


One giant stack of pancakes

by PorbyDorble



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Dates, First Meetings, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Eddie Kaspbrak, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:26:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23522281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PorbyDorble/pseuds/PorbyDorble
Summary: Eddie is swept off his feet by a stranger who comes into the diner where he's working
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 16
Kudos: 189





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I promise the second chapter will be explicit. I like a little lead up to my business.

Eddie collected the dirty glasses from the table, being careful to contact the surfaces of the glass as little as possible. It was bad enough touching the grimy plates on their way out to the diners, but this? He grimaced as he loaded them into the bus tub, already a quarter full of crumpled napkins, straw papers, other refuse from the recently emptied four-top. Ohhhh, he is going to kill that mangy little bus boy the next time he sees him. Calling off 15 minutes before his shift so there’s no time to find a replacement… and Eddie knows well and good that the little fucker is simply hungover from yesterday’s party- one which he, Eddie, himself, had been present at which is why he knows-

“Excuse me?” comes a voice from nearby.

“Hu-wha?” Eddie spits out, pulled unceremoniously from his glorious murder-fantasy featuring a certain limp-haired, greasy little-

“Hey, hi. Can I sit anywhere, or am I supposed to like, wait? I’ve been up there for a minute.”

Eddie turns to the voice, in one movement nudging the black tub further onto the table with his hip and wiping his hands on the white linen apron. “Oh, I’m sorry. We’re short-staffed today so I’m kind of all hands...”

Eddie’s voice trails off as he catches sight of the man who’d asked the question. In front of him is… well, what is this?

In front of him stands a six-foot tall monstrosity. Scuffed suede boots peak out from worn, green corduroy trousers. A yellow short-sleeved button down (short-sleeved...with buttons?!) over a gray henly-collared shirt (more buttons? What is happening here?), both equally rumpled. And poking out of this insane laundry-pile of an outfit is… an extremely handsome, blue-eyed, chiseled jaw… with hair mussed just enough to match the crazy ensemble.

“Well that seems a lot to share at first sight,” the stranger grins, and Eddie pauses.

“On deck. I’m all hands on deck… there’s no one else… waiting… helping here. I’m it,” Eddie can feel his face warming, a flush creeping up from his chest, but he seems unable to stop himself. “You can sit wherever you want. Like, we always do that. You can always sit wherever you want. Any of these tables are free. And we have a-a patio… over… there...” he gestures with his customer service wave, but half way through the sweep he loses heart and pulls his hand back to his side. The stranger is still smiling, although his grin has diminished a bit.

“Okay, man. Is this one okay? Can I sit here?” The stranger motions to a table against the wall and sidles over, never taking his eyes off of Eddie’s face. 

Eddie struggles to regain his composure and some control over his racing heart. The stranger hooks one massive hand over the back of a chair and pulls it out, swings one giant leg around and lowers himself, still facing Eddie-

“NO, NOT THAT ONE!” he shouts, flinging his hands outward.

The stranger leaps up as if scalded, “Shit, shit, sorry! What-”

Eddie, hands still outstretched, attempts to paint an apology with his face. “Ah, sorry. It’s a joke. That was a bad joke, I’m sorry.”

The stranger swings his head around to look at the seat he just vacated, pauses, swings his head back around. Eddie can see the gears turning behind his eyes. Shit, he really needed every cent he could pull today and he very likely just threw this one out the window with his desperate attempt at flirting with a stranger who he has even the barest inkling of a read on… And then the stranger is chuckling, and lowering himself again into the seat. He’s seated sideways, his eyes are crinkled up with an afterglow of the laugh that’s left him, and Eddie is struck again by the bright blue of his eyes. In a daze, he thinks that the blue is impossibly big, and round… he realizes that those big blue eyes seem impossibly big because they are impossibly big- the stranger is wearing incredibly thick, square-rimmed glasses which magnify his eyes. The black plastic frames accentuate the light, bright blue-

“-a coffee?”

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Eddie asks, pulled from his reverie. Despite the fact that he likely just got caught out devouring this stranger from the ground up with his eyes, he can feel a dopey, half-smile on his face.

“I said do you guys do coffee? Can I get a coffee?” The stranger is mirroring his half smile. Is he leaning in? It seems to Eddie that he is, almost imperceptably, his broad shoulders are hunched over the corner of the table and pointing towards Eddie.

Towards Eddie, who must now return to planet Earth to do his job. “Oh, yeah, of course. Cream or sugar for you?”

The stranger keeps up his half smile. “A little of both, sure.”

Eddie crosses near the table and pushes his way through the swinging door into the back. He whips around and presses his back to the cool, white plastic wall and crushes his eyes shut. He resists the urge to press the heels of his hands deep into his eye sockets because… like, gross. He was just bussing a table. He pulls his arms up reflexively, his elbows at 90 degrees, and clenches his hands into fists, relaxes, clenches, relaxes…

“Hey buddy, you doing alright?” Mike’s soothing baritone voice calls from the corner of the small kitchen. Eddie’s eyes fly open, and he rolls his eyes over to the cook.

“Uh… uh, yeah, I’m fine. Maybe? I think I just royally embarassed myself in front of a crazy cute customer.” Eddie forces his hands down to his sides and stalks over to the handwash sink directly across from the door.

Mike chuckles and turns back to counter, returning to his prep. Eddie drops his eyes to the sink before him and begins dutifully scrubbing his hands. 20 seconds, back and front, nails, between the fingers, up the wrists. The warm water melts some of the tension from his forearms. He can feel himself getting clean under the hot water, and it removes just a bit of the stress from his shoulders. He lets out a hissing breath and feels himself sink, just a bit, back to Earth. He snicks out three paper towels, rubs his hands dry, turns off the sink. The familiar motions bring him some sense of peace. He turns to the coffee station and reminds himself that it’s just like serving any other customer- one he will never see again, just like every other customer that hits up the mid-sized town for the local film festival. He pours a coffee, bends down to retrieve the creamer from the refrigerator, stacks it on the the bowl full of sugar packets, turns around, and braces himself.

Mike turns towards the sound of his sharp breathing, winks. “Go get ‘im, tiger.”

Eddie squares his shoulders and takes off towards the dining room. “Yeah, go fuck yourself.”

The stranger is sitting sideways in his chair and turns to look as he hears the door swing open. Mike’s laughter is clearly audible as the door swings shut behind him. Eddie has plastered what he hopes is a smile on his face, although he’s been informed by the other wait staff that he has a terminal case of resting bastard face. By the raise of the stranger’s eyebrows he can assume that he has failed to cobble together a happy face.

He crosses over and sets down the coffee, cream and sugar. He sees that the stranger has retrieved a menu from somewhere, so he pulls out his ticket book. “What can I get for you?”

The stranger plants one elbow on the table and props his face on one hand. “What, no introduction? No spiel? No, ‘Hello, my name is Harry and I will be your server this fine evening’?”

Eddie’s mouth drops partway open. He has just heard a very passable impression of his own voice parroted back at him from someone he has had about 30 seconds of interaction with. “Uh, okay. Hello, my name is Eddie, and I will be your server this fine evening.” At the last second he drops in a formal, sweeping bow, and is rewarded with a delighted laugh from the diner.

“Well thank you very much, my fine Eduardo. My name is Richie, and I’ll be your guest this fine evening.” With that he bows as much as he can while seated, Eddie swaps extends his right hand and the stranger hesitates, then grasps the proffered hand in a warm grasp. Eddie feels lightning up his arm. The stranger’s… Richie’s hand is warm, and dry, and seems to completely envelope his own. He holds eye contact and they slowly shake. Eddie is almost sure that they both hold the handshake for too long.

Richie finally releases the handshake and folds his hands primly in his lap. “Now, Eddie, my good man. Can I still get breakfast foods in this joint?”

Eddie whips his ticket book back up, fishes for his pen. “Yeah, what did you have in mind?”

“Ah, thank Christ. This is the third place I tried. I had almost given up and had to settle for a sandwich. Can I please, please, get the biggest fuck-off stack of pancakes you’ve ever sold?”

Eddie tips his head back and laughs. He writes ‘fuck-off stack of pancakes,’ and he’s sure Mike will appreciate that as much as he does. “Sure you can. You want anything to go with those? Eggs?”  
Richie hums, “Sausage?” He hums louder and his eyes snap shut, “Bacon?” His eyes fly open.

“Fuck. Yes. Bacon. And orange juice. Do you have orange juice?”

Eddie laughs again, “Yeah, we have orange juice. Anything else?”

Richie leans forward and raises an eyebrow, “I’m also going to need, like, an absurd amount of syrup. As much as you can give me without getting in trouble.”

Eddie marks the request on his ticket and rips it off. “One fuck-off amount of pancakes with an absurd amount of syrup, with a side of bacon and OJ. That’ll be out in no time.”

This earns him another one of the stranger’s heart-melting grins and Eddie slips away into the kitchen. He could almost swear that he sees a reflection of the stranger- Richie staring at him in the glass windows at the front of the store, but he won’t allow himself to check.

Mike has to leap back to avoid being hit by the door when Eddie returns. “Damn, Eds. That man is after you. No wonder you’re weak in the knees.”

Eddie slaps the ticket into Mike’s chest. “Shut up and make a fuck-off stack of pancakes, big boy.”

Mike laughs and wheels around to the grill, where he sets to filling the ticket. Eddie returns to the fridge and pours the orange juice. When he turns around Mike is smirking at his pancakes. “What? And just what the fuck are you laughing at?”

Mike throws his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Nothing! I just haven’t seen you get this flustered before!”

Eddie sighs and leans against the counter, setting the glass beside him. “I know. Man he is really fucking cute. Should I ask for his number? I’ve never hit on someone at work before.” He crosses his arms, glares sideways at the door.

Mike smiles and flips the first of the fuck-off pancakes. “I don’t know man, you know me n’ bill have been together for too long, I never figured out dating.”

Eddie rolls his eyes and hunches his shoulders. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Still, is that weird? Hitting on a customer? I know it's rude to hit of your server... is it shitty the other way around?"

Mike shrugs. "I don't know. From what I could see it looked like he was trying to get you to talk. Why don't you go out and talk to him?" Mike continues to flip.

"What am I supposed to do, go sit myself down at his table and ask his sign?"

Mike shrugs again. "Just keep it going, you know? Or laugh at his jokes. The movies tell me that's an important one." Mike shakes his metal spatula to emphasize his point.

Eddie sighs and picks up the glass from the counter, now beading with sweat. God, he hates the feeling of wet hands... "I don’t know why I’m worrying about it, we both know I’ll fucking chicken out anyway.” With that he backs through the door. He can just hear Mike behind him shouting some kind of encouragement, and then the door swings shut again. He crosses back and deposits the glass on the table. “One large OJ, as requested.”

Richie smiles up at him and snakes one hand around the glass. “Thanks. Hey, can I ask you a question?”

Eddie plants one hand on the table and the other on his hip. “Sure thing, what’s up?”

Richie sneaks a sip from the glass and sets it back down. “Are you from around here? A ‘townie’ as it were?”

Eddie nods, but says nothing. Then he remembers his mission: to make conversation, and he cringes at his own inability to carry a conversation. Richie continues. “Cool. What is there to do on a Tuesday night for fun? I’m in town for the festival, but I could use a night off of film snobs.”

Eddie tips his head back, exaggerating the effort required to provide a satisfactory answer. “Well, it depends on what kind of fun you’re looking for. There’s a bar down the way, Gridiron. It’s a sports bar, but they’re pretty chill on a Tuesday night, and they don’t get too much of the film crowd in there. There’s good hiking just outside of town, but you pretty much need a car to get out there. There’s a bowling alley if you’re into that. It’s a little run down from the outside, but it’s clean enough and the owners are nice people… is that kind of what you’re thinking?”

Richie nods and raises his glass again. “Yeah, thanks. Those are all great. I’m thinking of taking someone out, bowling sounds fun.”

Eddie forces the smile on his face to stay in place (or so he hopes). “Oh yeah, good. Yeah, the hike is beautiful, super great if you’re set up for it. Very romantic.”

Richie grins behind his glass. “Oh thanks, I really appreciate it. I think that’ll work out just fine.”

Eddie nods… and nods… he feels frozen in place for far too long, but he can’t seem to make himself break eye contact, as much as he wishes he could streak away and hide. Richie holds his eyes, that grin frozen in place. A bell sounds and Eddie snaps his head up and around. “Your pancakes!”

Richie drops his glass back down to the table and swings his head around to stare at the kitchen door. Eddie thinks he sees a flicker of some other emotion replace the grin for a split second, but then he is fast-walking away as quickly as his legs will carry him. He feels the door swing shut behind him and breaks into a fast pace in the back.

Mike crosses his arms and raises his chin, staring calmly down his nose at Eddie, the spiritual opposite of Eddie’s present energy. “You okay, Eds?”

Eddie executes a quick heel-turn and snaps up the plate and pitcher of syrup. “Yup.”

He briskly shoulders his way back out into the dining room and attempts to replace his customer service smile. He pops the plate down on the table, and if he maybe slams it down a little harder than normal, well, surely that was an accident. 

He sees Richie’s eyes go wide, and that’s when he notices… Mike’s fuck-off stack of pancakes. There can be no fewer than 8 enormous, dinner-plate sized pancakes stacked on the platter. The sensible two-piece side of bacon is dwarfed in comparison, and Eddie checks and yes, surely, that is an insane amount of syrup Mike has loaded into the warm ceramic carafe.

Richie turns his face up to Eddie. He is struck again by the sheer size of those bright eyes staring up at him. Richie has a giant, fawning, open-mouthed smile. His face is displaying pure delight. Eddie thinks he may never have seen anything so beautiful in his life.

“Would you like to go bowling with me tonight?”

Eddie stares down at the face of pure joy. He looks back to the stack of pancakes. Back to Richie. “Y-yeah… I get off work at 4.”

For all his assertions that he doesn’t understand dating, Mike sure is a great wing man.


	2. Misery loves Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie and Eddie meet up for a first date, which absolutely can't go wrong, right?
> 
> That would never happen in a fanfiction, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where it gets explicit, me boyos.

Eddie smooths his hair again, for what feels like the thousandth time. And the last time. This is the last time, because this is getting stupid. He snaps his arms down to his side, glowers in the mirror. He stomps out of the bathroom and into his small living room, where he is going to sit on the couch like a normal person, and watch normal television, and wait normally for his date. And then he’s up again, stalking back into the bathroom where he is again wetting his hands and running them through his hair. If he can just get this one last piece to go where it should go-

He jumps at the sound of a knock. He checks his phone. Yes, it is 6:04 already. He looks up, into the mirror. His own dark eyes stare back at him, and his eyebrows are knitted together, a crease between them. He’s scowling, and he knows he shouldn’t but… it just feels right on his face. He forces himself to walk slowly- like he imagines a normal person would- to the front door. He slides over the chain, flips the deadbolt, unlocks the knob, and swings the door open.

“Wow, is this that bad of a neighborhood?” Richie asks, and then an odd look crosses his face. Eddie can’t place the emotion, but then the grin is back and Richie is leaning into the doorframe, and Eddie is struck again by how tall he is. 

In the restaurant he’d noticed the height, but from a socially acceptable distance. Now Richie was tilted against the frame of his door and still had the height advantage to look down on him. Eddie swallowed and felt his throat working. He felt exposed with his neck stretched out, looking up to meet Richie’s gaze. And so he cleared his throat, tucked his chin in, and turned to grab his jacket. “We’re going bowling, right? Inside?”

Richie half-shrugged “It’s up to you, you know the town better than me. You didn’t seem too stoked on the idea of hiking, so bowling it is. Which is probably a good thing. I know you take my breath away, but that’s a little more attractive than hiking literally taking my breath away,” Eddie steps out into the hallway and begins locking his door. “For real, I am not in shape for hiking. It would not be a pretty picture,” They’re moving down the hallway. “Like, gasping, heaving, spewing. All real third-date material, you know?” Richie grins and nudges Eddie with his elbow.

Eddie smiles. He tucks his elbows into his sides. The hallway seems narrower than he remembers. He knows it’s impossible, but he imagines he can feel Richie’s body heat beside him. When they reach the door to the apartment complex, Richie lunges for the handle, all gangly limbs. Richie is holding the door open and Eddie has no choice but to slide past him. As he slides past he thinks he may catch a smell of Richie- clean, musky. Woodsy? His stomach drops. He feels impossibly warm, hot, burning, the air is heavy and humid… and then he’s in the brisk air of outside and he can breathe again. Richie follows a half step behind him, permanent smile in place.

“Do you go bowling a lot? I wouldn’t peg you for a real professional bowling type. Although I suppose you have to stay pretty compact to fit in the lane.”

Eddie crosses his arms, swings about on his heel, just short of the exterior steps. Richie has his hands up in front of him, flat, gesturing in kind of an accordion gesture. Eddie is amused, but cannot let a slip of the tongue go so easily with this one. “Compact?”

Richie’s deflates the smallest amount. “Uh…. Yeah, compact, you know, like…. Tight?”

“What, compact? Tight? You mean short don’t you? Is this a short joke?” Eddie cocks his head, looks up from under his eyebrows, furrowed tightly together.

“What, no, I mean- you know, like….” Richie is waving his hands, backing away a half step.

“Small?” Eddie unconsciously matches the half step to keep himself in Richie’s space.

“No! I didn’t mean small, I meant-”

Suddenly Eddie uncrosses his arms, flings his hands up in a gesture of reconciliation. “Ahh, I’m just fucking with you.”

Again, Eddie thinks he can see the wheels turning, and the the smile is back, and then a laugh. Richie bend over, plants his hands on his knees. “Oh man, in that case I do mean small. A tiny, tiny little man. A tiny, angry little person.” He straightens and slips past Eddie wagging his finger. “You really shouldn’t play around like that, your face is terrifying and I-”

“WATCH OUT FOR THE-”

Eddie, caught up in the playful admonition, notices too late that Richie has not ‘watched his step’ like the sign posted in the grass has warned, and he has missed the top of the three concrete steps. He is struck for a moment by how hard the man before him falls- and he supposes that one of the benefits of remaining compact is the opposite of the old adage, 'the bigger they are the harder they fall'- and then he’s on his knees in the grass, assisting Richie in lifting himself into a sitting position. “Oh my god, are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“Just my pride.” He pulls one knee up, and scrubs the scraped palms of his hands on the corduroy, uses one scraped knuckle to push his glasses back into place. He’s mumbling to himself as he pushes off the ground with his left leg. “Jesus, that’s embarrassing. Great first date material, Tozier.”

Eddie is helping him off the ground, when he notices how bad the scrapes are on one palm. “Hey, we should go wash this off. Let’s pop back in my place real quick. Are you sure you’re okay?” 

Richie allows his hand to be flipped over, examined. When Eddie looks up at him, Richie is nodding. His eyes are soft and he is blushing. “Yeah, I’m fine. I don’t need to wash it, I’m fine, let’s go.”

Eddie recoils. “You don’t need to wash it? Like fuck! You just fell on fucking dirt, and cement, and god knows how many peoples’ shoes have been on these fucking steps today,” He gestures widely at the entryway. “It’ll take two seconds, come on, let’s go.” And with that he releases Richie’s hand to grab his wrist firmly, and he pulls him back toward the door.

“Okay, okay, you win.” Richie concedes, allowing the smaller man to pull him along. Eddie smiles, content at his win, and then the hand is jerking roughly out of his grasp- “Jesus fucking christ, OWWWWWWW.” 

Eddie whips around, his stomach dropping out. Richie is standing at the base of the stairs, balanced on one leg, the right held inches above the ground. His face is gaining color, and Eddie thinks he sees just the beginnings of tears in the corners of his eyes, magnified at the edge of the square glasses, glistening…

And then Richie is laughing, reaching out to grab Eddie’s upper arm to keep himself from being laughed off balance. “Oh no, don’t tell me...”

“Yep. I’m gonna need some help on the stairs here. I don’t think we’re going to make it bowling tonight, Eduardo.”

Eddie smiles softly and assures Richie that it’s fine as he slots himself under the larger man’s arm. Eddie feels the weight and heat envelope him. He can smell what he caught in passing earlier. A clean scent, yet musky. He’s on the stair above Richie, then, guiding him up, and for a moment his face is level with the taller man. His mouth goes dry as he stairs directly across into those big blue eyes, and then he’s leaning in and pressing a dry kiss to Richie’s lips. There is no pause here, Richie immediately leans into the kiss, for a moment, and then he’s backing away.

“As much as I appreciate the gesture… And believe me, I really fucking appreciate it… This really hurts. Can we pick this up when we’re back in your apartment?”

Eddie feels his face heating up. And then Richie is laughing, and he is laughing, and he feels the embarassment melt away. It feels like he spends ages lifting the heavier man up the stairs. Then they’re tottering down the hallway, and Richie has one arm wrapped over his shoulders and one hand gripping Eddie’s upper arm like a vice. When they reach the door Richie releases him and leans against the wall. As Eddie unlocks the door he glances over at the other man. “Are you sweating?”

“Hey, we aren’t all so compact, you know.” Richie swipes a hand at his forehead. “What are you, an Olympic gymnast? What’s going on under there?” He points at Eddie’s torso and twirls his finger.

Eddie rolls his eyes and swings the door open. “Come on, you’re obviously in a lot of pain. Just wait here for a second, alright?” He leaves Richie at the door, more concerned now that he’s noticed the amount of sweat on Richie’s face coupled with the lack of color. Jesus, I hope it isn’t a fracture…

He dives into his room and retrieves his desk chair, which he rolls out to the door way. “Sit.” He commands. Richie nods and slumps sideways into the chair. “Why didn’t you tell me how bad it was? I guess I should have noticed when you stopped talking, huh?”

Richie shrugs, “Oh, you know. I have a very masculine image to uphold. Stiff upper lip and all that, eh, wot? Wot wot?” Eddie rolls his eyes at the posh English gentleman sitting in his parlor.

He rolls Richie to the edge of the kitchen linoleum and is pulling across one of his two kitchen chairs as a footstool. “Sounds like toxic masculinity to me. I really wish you would have said something, I could have rolled you all the way down the hallway. Here, foot up please.” Eddie tugs Richie’s pant leg up a few inches before it’s snug around the meaty calf beneath and as much as he is now in damage control mode, he allows himself a second to appreciate the feel of warm leg beneath his fingers… And then he is unlacing the scuffed brown boot, gingerly removing it, and peeling down the worn wool sock. He rises and starts gathering- plastic bag, dish towel, ice…

When he turns around Richie has his hands clamped on the sides of the rolling chair. A dopey grin lights up his face. Eddie drops to one knee beside Richie’s outstretched leg. “What are you smiling about?”

“Nothing, nothing. I just guess the old damsel-in-distress tactic was the right angle. You’re very cool under pressure, you know?”

Eddie smiles and hands Richie a bag of ice, wrapped in a towel. “Sure. Hang on to that for a second.” He shifts so that he is facing the offending ankle straight on. “Well, it’s red, so that’s a good sign.” He places a hand on the bottom of Richie’s foot, as gently as he can.

“Red is good?”

“Yeah, red is good, purple is… okay. White would be bad. Does this hurt?” He gently rolls the ankle one way, and then the other. Richie shakes his head no. “Great. Ok, give me that please.” He holds his hand out and Richie passes him the ice pack. Eddie places it gingerly across the top of Richie’s ankle.

“Have you sprained this ankle before?”

“Yeah, once when I was a kid… once a few years ago. Very ill-advised dance maneuver, I was way out of my comfort zone.”

Eddie smiles and stands. He pats Richie’s shoulder on his way past, into the bathroom. He ducks and opens the under-sink cabinet, where he keeps his treasure trove. Bandages, ointments, creams, pills… ah, there it is.

He returns with an elastic bandage and sets to work. He sets aside the ice pack, lifts the swollen joint gingerly, and again allows himself a moment to simply relish the feel of the hefty ankle in his hand. Despite Richie’s joke, he’d never really considered himself a particularly small person. But the weight of the joint in his hand dwarfs his own, and he’s struck by the sheer size difference to his own (by comparison) delicate ankles. Then he sets to work in earnest, wrapping the compression bandage in neat loops. The motion of wrapping the ankle soothes him, and he’s finished in no time, after which he replaces the ice. When he looks up, those blue eyes are fixed on the joining of Eddie’s hands and Richie’s ankle.

Richie’s face is turning pink, and Eddie is relieved to see the color returning. His eyes fall to Richie’s mouth, barely parted. Their eyes meet, and Eddie is sure he sees a reflection of the sudden heat from his own stomach. He runs his hands up the leg below him, slowly. He inches forward, his hands running over the rolled pantleg, the thick calf, the knee, the thick thigh… He pauses. Drops his eyes to the tent forming in Richie’s pants, unmistakable. He raises his eyes again, frozen in place. Waiting. Searching the eyes of the man in front of him, waiting for a sign, a confirmation that he should carry on. He’s done this delicate dance, he knows that he has to wait, say nothing to spoil the tension-

“JesusChristYou’reReallyHotCanISuckYourDick?” Tumbles out of Richie’s mouth, and then they’re both laughing, again, and Eddie can’t remember another first date where he’s faced so much disaster and been left with so much laughter.

Eddies reaches his hands forward to grasp the fly of Richie’s pants. “Are you wearing buttonfly pants? Who the fuck owns buttonflies anymore?” and with a sharp tug the fly is open.

“I’ll have you know they’re very CONVENIENT, SIIIRRR.” And then Richie is wiggling, shucking his pants and underwear in one movement. Eddie laughs and shimmies the pants down as far as they will go, which isn’t very far. Richie’s heavy cock flops up against his stomach, too heavy to hold itself up, apparently, and Eddie’s mouth waters at the sight. Richie’s legs are pinned together at the knee, but he doesn’t seem to mind, and Eddie has no time to image what he’d like to get up to with the monster cock before him, as Richie is pulling Eddie up roughly, forcing him to stand. Then his hands are fumbling with Eddie’s belt, his button, his zipper. Richie tucks his thumbs into the tops of his jeans, and snakes his hands around Eddie’s back. He jostles, he jimmies, and Eddie’s jeans are hooked over the hump of his ass. Richie grabs his hips through the soft fabric of his underwear and pulls him forward. “You’re going to have to work with me on the angle here, Eds, I’m a little immobile.”

Eddie nods down at him, and then Richie has pulled him forward and is nuzzling against the bulge forming in his shorts. Eddie reaches a hand up to the tangle of brown curls and entwines his fingers there. Richie groans and rubs one hand up the length of his stiffening cock, the other still firmly grasping his hip.

“Eeeeeds… you’re killing me. How is this possible?”

Eddie blinks, unable to form more of a response in his present state. “What? What are you- What do you mean?”

Richie pulls back and looks up at him with those big blue eyes. “You’re perfect. You’re literally perfect. You’re hot, and you’re funny, and you apparently know an insane amount of first aid, and then this?” He gestures up and down the front of Eddie’s shorts, the outline of his cock straining at the fabric clearly visible. “What is this, huh?” Richie pulls down on the fabric, freeing his cock. It bounces, fully hard now, red and full. “This is a perfect dick. Are you trying to kill me with this?” Richie is staring up at him with an incredulous look on his face, and then Eddie is gasping as a hand wraps around the base of his cock and squeezes. “Fuck you, you know that? Fuck you.” And then Richie dives in with no lead up. Eddie moans at the sensation of a hot mouth around the head of his cock.

Wet sounds fill the quiet apartment as Richie works his head up and down, slobbering messily on Eddie’s dick. Eddie fights the urge to tip his head back and close his eyes, as that would steal away the image beneath him of Richie pumping his fist and twisting. Richie pulls back and lays a heavy, wide, sloppy lick up the palm of his hand, and suddenly the fist is back, slick and tight around his dick. Richie dips his head again and Eddie is lost in a blur of sensations. Hot, wet mouth and tight, pumping fist work together in perfect harmony. He feels a tightening in the pit of his stomach and can tell already that his orgasm is stealing up on him. He taps with the hand not tangled in Richie’s hair.

“Richie… Rich, I’m close. I’m gonna blow if you don’t slow down.” Richie nods around his dick and continues his frantic pace. Eddie grabs at Richie’s shoulder for support, and then he’s coming hard. He scrunches his eyes shut involuntarily. Stars bloom behind his vision. Richie releases the hold of his hand and dips his head down further and Eddie can feel the wet heat around his entire cock, which seems to pull more pleasure from him. He feels himself coming undone, thrusting into Richie’s mouth who, bless the man below him, simply swallows and gags, and accepts the slight fucking motion.

Eddie feels the world come back into focus as Richie withdraws his mouth. He opens his eyes, and is greeted by the sight of Richie wiping the back of one hand across his mouth and his chin, smearing around the saliva more than cleaning it away. Then the grin is back and Eddie can’t help but match it. He totters back a step, still weak in the knees, and pulls his pants up enough to regain mobility. He tucks his softening dick back in the front of his pants. “Jesus Rich, that was… something else.”

Richie tips him a wink and slaps one hand playfully across as much of Eddie’s ass as he can reach. “You’re welcome.” Eddie reaches down to wrap one hand around Richie’s dick. He crouches between the two chairs, the position awkward but workable. His mouth begins to water-

“Oh, hey, you don’t have to do that. It’s-it’s fine, you don't have to-” Richie lays one hand on Eddie’s, gently trying to move him away.

Eddie rocks back on his heels. “What you don’t want me to-?”

Richie waves his hands in front of his chest, “No, no, it’s not that. It’s just… I know it’s a lot. You don’t have to, you know?”

Eddie looks down, and Richie is right- it is a lot. His hand seems small in comparison. He doesn’t know that he can fit this in his mouth, and his hand barely covers half of the length of the shaft. The realization hits him, that if they were to try to fuck, this would require more prep than he’s ever had to do for a partner. The realization coils in his stomach and he feels afraid, and turned on by the fear.

And then he’s leaning in, slowly, and licking one stripe from the top of Richie’s balls to the head of his cock, and Richie is moaning. Eddie looks up and sees the lines of Richie’s thick neck. His head is tipped back, his Adam's apple exposed and bobbing. Eddie feels a hot pit of desire in his stomach. Not lust, but maybe... appreciation for the view? He thinks this feeling is simply wanting to please, wanting to feel this tall, gangly, practical stranger come undone.

He dips his head and sets to work. He feels a stretch in his lips as he fights to take in as much of Richie as he can. And he surprises himself when he feels the head of Richie’s dick pressing against the back of his throat. He swallows involuntarily and Richie moans again, louder. Eddie would be smiling at that, if his mouth wasn’t completely stretched out around the monster cock before him. He sets to work, bobbing his head, flexing his tongue, pumping his fist. He can tell he isn’t matching Richie’s level of mess, but he hopes that his own pleasure is coming through nonetheless. It feels like in no time at all, Richie is returning his courtesy tap. “I’m gonna... come.” Eddie nods and sinks down as far as he can go, swallows, and then Richie is groaning and grasping his shoulder. He can feel the dick in his mouth jumping, so he swallows again, and again.

‘It’s not so bad,’ he thinks, ‘if you just swallow it right down like this. You can’t even really taste it this way.’

The he feels Richie relax beneath him, so he pulls off. Richie is staring at him as he rocks back on his heels. One of Richie’s hands release their death grip from his shoulders and pats the top of his head, runs down the side of his face. “Wow. Wow, Eds. That was… wow.” And then his head is tipped back again, eyes shut. Eddie leans into the hand pressed to the side of his face, smiling.

“Yeah, that was fun...” He looks around, struck by the absurdity of the image. They’re on the border of the kitchen and living area, in a rapidly darkening apartment since he hadn’t hit the lights when he returned. Their softening cocks are exposed and Richie is trapped on his wheelie chair. “Do you want to stick around? Maybe watch a movie? You should probably hit up an urgent care in town, but they close at 5:45 so you’ll have to wait til tomorrow.”

Richie picks up his head and stares at Eddie. That same grin is sneaking across Richie's face, and it makes Eddie warm inside where previously there was heat. “Y-yeah. Wheel me away, mon capitan, I’m yours for the evening.”

Eddie stands and walks around the back of the chair. He grasps the back and begins slowly, gently, wheeling Richie backwards into the living room. “Evening? Good luck with that, you’re mine for the forseeable future. What are you going to do, crawl away? Now come on, let’s find a movie. Ooh, Misery? I love Misery. Kathy Bates in that movie- such a role model, am I right?”

Richie hangs on to the sides of the chair and breaks up into more laughter, and Eddie thinks he’s never heard a more beautiful sound.


End file.
